Packaged Deal

PACKAGED DEAL


7:13 A.M.

There was little, to no, feeling in his left arm. Why was there no feeling in his left arm? He tried lifting his shoulder; no that wasn’t going to work either. Try opening your eyes --Okay, that might work. Ron blinked in the light. It must be morning. Gawd, I’m tired. Left arm? No, can’t, Hermione’s still asleep.

What? Oh yeah, right. He looked down at her; she must’ve moved sometime in the night because she now faced away from him, lying on her left side, her head still on his shoulder, his left arm intertwined with both of hers. This is really uncomfortable. --Shut up. If he could just move a little. He rolled toward her slightly and managed to pull his shoulder back a little, easing the strain on his biceps. No, too far, now it just hurts. Just come back this way a little Hermione, so I can move my arm down a bit. OOwwww! Bugger this! Ron rolled further nearly covering her, slid his right arm under the covers and wrapped it firmly around her waist and in one fluid movement pulled her backward toward him. He rotated his arm, and straightened it; so much better. He could feel the blood rushing into the neglected limb now, pins and needles in his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fist. Hermione moved. An audible breath escaped her lips. Don’t wake up, don’t wake up! Her back arched, her arms and legs straightened briefly, in some sort of divine stretch but she didn’t wake. Instead, she settle herself back into a comfortable position, her body pressed firmly into his. Dangerous!, Dangerous!, Dangerous!, Oh Lord. It was like every nerve in his body, every hair, every fiber stood on edge. She’s too close, far too close. What if she wakes up? At least my ears aren’t hot. --Ears are the least of your worries, mate. I should move. --Anytime now. --By the way, the hand you have around her; inside her pyjama top, thought you oughtta know. So what? You haven’t moved it.

“Please don’t wake up.”

Ron drew his hand back, his senses reeling. His fingertips burning with impressions of her skin.

Stop it! What the hell are you doing? This is Hermione. --Quite.
She’ll be awake soon, do you really want the first thing she notices, the first thing she feels to be... Oh

Ron rolled away.


***

Hermione shifted, turned and rolled toward him. She slug her arm loosely across his chest, and blinked her eyes open.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

“Hi,” she said sleepily. “Is it morning already?”

“Sorry, but yeah.”

“What time is it?” she asked, noticing her arm and withdrawing it.

“Twenty to eight.”

“Wonder if anyone’s back yet.”

“We should get up.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes.

From outside the curtain he heard a distinct ‘thunk’. Hermione raised her head.

“Alohamora!” two familiar voices called together. At the foot of the bed the curtain ruffled and was pulled apart.

“I knew it!” George exclaimed, ducking inside the curtain. Hermione threw the covers over head and slipped under Ron’s arm in some desperate attempt to become invisible.

“Isn’t this cosy?” Fred clambered in behind him. The two made themselves comfortable at the foot of the bed.

“Hey Fred,” George grinned maniacally, “guess who’s just volunteered to test our new product line?”

“I don’t know George. Could it be our little brother?”

“Don’t forget Miss Granger.”

“Oh, how could I?” Fred reached up and pulled the covers off Hermione’s head.

“Yeah, bit disappointed in her, really.”

“I know - she could do so much better.”

“What shall we start them off with?”

“The new Snackboxes, perhaps? or Babbling Taffy?”

“That could be interesting.”

“I know --Starkers String!”

“And what exactly is Starkers String?” Hermione asked begrudgingly, her face still half hidden in Ron’s shoulder.

“Best thing ever. Thin strings, taste like liquorice but give you the overwhelming urge to well... go starkers.”

“Be loads of fun at Quidditch matches....”

“...weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, Potions class.”

“Come on you lot!” Tonks’s voice called from the stairs, “Get up, breakfast is ready!”

Hermione made a move for her side of the curtain.

“I’d better go, before Ginny wakes up.”

She slid to the edge of curtain and rolled sideways, there was a swish of velvet and she was gone, the curtain fell back between the beds, as it had been the day before. The boys exchanged looks.

“Impressive,” Fred commented.

“Let me guess,” George laughed, “Miss Tonks had something to do with that, didn’t she?”


***


The large table in the kitchen was laden with every breakfast food Ron could imagine and he could imagine a lot. It was like being at Hogwarts again.

“I didn’t know what to make, so I made, well, everything I could think of,” Tonks explained.

Brilliant!

“Looks fabulous, Tonks,” Hermione and Ginny said together.

“Where’s Mum?” George asked, spooning a large amount of scrambled eggs onto his plate.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione looked up the table at him.

“Mum’s back?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, before I went to bed last night.”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Tonks replied. “Come on, tuck in. I’m not that bad a cook you know.”

She was right.

Tonks approached him with a pan of sausages. She leant low in between himself and Hermione.

“So how did you sleep?” Tonks winked, giving them a semi-evil smile as she slid sausages onto Ron’s plate.

“Very well,” Ron replied, feeling his ears growing very hot.

“Fine, thank-you,” Hermione responded in little more than a whisper.

Ron glanced over at her but she seemed to have suddenly found something very interesting in the bottom of her cereal bowl, her hair not quite covering the red flush in her cheeks.

“Oy! woman, sausages!” came a loud voice from the end of the table.

Tonks looked up at George and smiling, raised her wand. A look of panic immediately swept across his face. In a flash, the sausages were out of the pan and zooming toward him. George ducked and ran, sausages in hot pursuit. The table erupted in laughter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley,” Tonks mused, “what was it you just said to me?”

Finishing his third lap around the table, George skidded to his knees at her feet; the trail of sausages poised above his head, ready to strike.

“You must’ve misheard me.” He wiped a spatter of oil from his forehead from the dripping sausages above. “Hey, that’s hot.”

“And?”

“I meant to say; Oh, Ms Tonks, goddess of all that is good and pure....”

At this Tonks raised an eyebrow.

“...and probably a few things that aren’t... never mind. If it’s no trouble, may I please have some sausages?”

“Now was that so difficult?”

She flicked her wand again and the sausages flew back across the table, dividing themselves equally between Fred and George’s plates.

Their mother entered the kitchen.

“Mum!” A chorus of voices welcomed her.

“Good morning. “Oh, Tonks breakfast looks... huge.”

“Think I went a little overboard?” Tonks laughed. “I’m just going to pop upstairs, Molly.”

His mother nodded. Tonks walked directly into the doorframe, and laughing, corrected herself, before vanishing up the stairs.

“Mum, were have you been?” Fred asked.

“Sorry dears, just helping Poppy.”

“Madame Pomfrey’s here?” George this time.

“Uh... well, she was, yes. She was here for Charlie.”

Conversation around the table ended.

“Mum?” Ginny spoke her voice wavering slightly.

“He’s all right. He will be all right.”

“Where is he?” Ron asked.

“Upstairs, in the living room.”

They all made to get up.

“No, you don’t. You’ll sit and finish your breakfast. And don’t you go bothering him, he needs his rest, he’s had a long night.”

They bolted the remains of breakfast and rushed upstairs.

***

Charlie was laying on the settee wearing only his pyjama bottoms. His left arm, just above the wrist and up to his shoulder was covered in bandages. Bandages covered most of the left side of his chest.

Tonks sat on the floor in front of him leaning back against the settee, handing Charlie several oddly shaped bottles, in order, from a round tray on the coffee table. He drank from each in turn making progressively worse faces.

“What the hell happened to you?” Fred exclaimed.

“He didn’t duck,” Tonks answered for him. Charlie looked down at her and grinned.

“I’d like to see what you’d have done; two different curses thrown at you at once.”

“I’d have ducked,” she said simply. He pushed his hand backward through her hair. She scrunched up her face and in an instant changed it to Charlie’s exact shade of ginger.

“Hey!” he exclaimed.

Tonks just shrugged. “I was feeling left out.”

She picked up the large green bottle and a smallish goblet. “Okay, last one, and I have to go, I promised your Mum I’d help her with the dishes.”

“But it’s vile!”

“Yes Charles, it is, and you still have to take it, so stop whinging.”

Charlie choked down the potion. Tonks re-corked the bottle and got up to leave, picking Charlie’s breakfast tray off the table. Charlie caught her hand as she walked around the back of the settee.

“I’ve missed you, Nymph,” he said in earnest.

Ron saw Hermione throw Ginny a look, as though she was waiting for the sky to fall at the mere mention of Tonks’s first name.

Ginny just shrugged. “He’s always called her that,” she whispered.

In fact Tonks just smiled, slipped her hand out of his and ran it through his hair.

“Mmmmh, so sweet,” she laughed as she left the room.

Fred looked fixedly at Charlie, pointed to him, then to the door Tonks had just gone through, then back to Charlie.

“Is there something you’d like to share with us?” he asked.

“No,” Charlie responded. “Not really.”

Fred and George looked at each other and sniggered.

“It’s about bloody time.” George grinned.

“What?” Ron asked, clueless.

“There’s this girl at school, Mum,” Fred started, in a treacly voice, “’She’s so amazing. She’s a metamorphmagus. Nymph turned herself into Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration yesterday, and lost fifty house points!’ --Honestly, he wouldn’t shut up about her. Only went out for Quidditch to impress her.”

Charlie was grinning, “God, how do you remember these things?”

“It’s true isn’t it? She started going with the Ravenclaw seeker in third year. So you of course, had to play for Gryffindor. “Kept saying ‘the git’s too old for her anyway.’” George continued.

“Old?” Hermione asked.

“He was a sixth year,” Charlie added.

Ginny and Hermione exchanged rather impressed looks.

“My ears are ringing, not talking about me are you?” Tonks asked as she reentered the room.

“Thought you were helping Mum?”

“She sent me back upstairs. I think only two of the plates actually shattered. So what are we discussing?”

“You and Aidan Firestone,” Charlie answered.

“Aidan Firestone..., Fred mumbled, “Aidan Firestone?! You don’t mean the same Aidan Firestone who....”

“Well, there’s a bit of a story behind that.” Charlie’s gaze met Tonks and they both burst out laughing. “Care to explain yourself, or would you like me to?”

“Oh, go on then,” she replied, “I know you want to.”

“Well Aidan and Miss Tonks here, didn’t last very long, for several reasons....”

“Main one being his need to snog Pauline Mole in the Astronomy Tower.” Tonks added.

“That’s who it was?”

“Tosser was actually angry with me for being early for our snogging session.”

“So naturally, my girl needed vengeance.”

Charlie tossed the comment out so casually Tonks didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she really didn’t mind.

“What did you do?” Hermione was asking.

“Well, it was near the end of the year. So I waited for the farewell feast.”

Fred and George were already laughing.

“The hall was packed,” Charlie jumped in, “What we all saw was Aidan Firestone walk casually up to Phineas Crookwood-Smith....”

“Head Boy and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team,” Tonks smiled.

“...and basically, snog him senseless, in front of the whole school,” Charlie continued.

Fred and George were rolling on the floor.

“That was you?”

“God, Tonks, you’re famous!”

Tonks took a deep breath.

“Satisfying,” she said. “Aidan never lived it down and, well, Phineas was...,” she sent a knowing look at the girls, “...well lovely.”

“I never liked Phineas,” Charlie said flatly.


***

7:27 P.M.


They’d spent a good part of the day cleaning, which had become a Sunday afternoon ritual at number twelve. It was then followed by an hour or so of filling little pots with fudge, candied fruit and fresh bread, and placing them at the base of every fireplace in the house, in the vague hope of attracting a Bean-Tighe. After a late night conversation about Tonks’s great auntie’s Bean-Tighe, Ron’s mother was bound and determined to attract one to Grimmauld Place. The fact that they were neither in a rural location, nor in Ireland didn’t seem to deter her one bit.

There had been a meeting of sorts just before dinner. Naturally, all underage occupants of the house had been herded upstairs to keep, an increasingly frustrated Charlie, company. He was in no fit state to navigate the stairs, since every step he took even around the living room seemed to cause him pain. He had requested someone levitate him down to the kitchen but his mother had said he wasn’t to trouble himself with Order business tonight either.

Sitting before the fire, Ginny was showing Hermione the letters and tokens that Dean had sent to her over the past few weeks. She was wearing his newest gift: a white shirt with ‘West Ham Bird’ written across the front. Ron had seated himself on the footstool beside the settee, well out of earshot of the girls.

“This Dean fellow, what’s he like?” Charlie was asking.

“Friend of mine actually. Nice enough bloke. My year, Gryffindor. Fan of muggle football.”

“Mm, I see that.” He made a face. “West Ham, really? I’ve always been a Gunners fan myself.”

Ron shrugged, indifferent.

“Still,” Charlie continued, “Ginny. When did she stop being five?”

Ron shook his head. Didn’t seem so long ago to him either.

“Dean... he knows there’s six of us, right?”

Ron laughed, “Yes, he does.”

“The Hogwart’s cupid strikes again. And I see you’re not immune.” Charlie nodded toward Hermione.

“No, it’s not like that. We’re best friends, Harry, Hermione and me.”

“All right, okay, fair enough.”

For several minutes they didn’t speak but soon he became acutely aware that Charlie was watching him and that, in that same time, he had been staring absent-mindedly at the girl across the room, the one with the bushy hair, sitting by the fireplace with his sister.

Charlie leaned in toward him smiling, “Please tell me you don’t look at Harry that way.”

“Oh, shut it.”

*

They were all gathered once more around the large table in the kitchen. Their numbers for dinner had nearly doubled, filled out by many members of the Order. Moody had returned looking completely unscathed. Kingsley Shacklebolt had only a bandaged wrist. Lupin sat at the head of the table a single plaster above his right eye, looking extremely pleased with himself and well happier, Ron thought, than he had done in weeks. Obviously, dueling agreed with him.

“If all goes well you’ll all be back at the Burrow next week and Harry will be joining you there,” Lupin was saying.

“Save him having to come back here,” Moody added.

“Remus, you saw him Thursday, didn’t you?” his mother asked.

“Yes.”

“How was he?” Hermione jumped in.

“Much better. We had a good long talk.”

“And those relatives of his?” Emmeline hissed.

“They were, well... I only had to remind Vernon to mind his manners once. Harry says it’s better this year.”

“Good.”

“Still raining?” Fred asked their father, as he was finishing his stew.

“Yes, on and off.”

“Cold for August, isn’t it?” added George.

“Terribly chilly last night, didn’t you think?” Fred’s question seemed to be addressed to the table as a whole.

“Yes, it was a bit nippy,” his father agreed. Several others nodded in as well.

“Glad I had an extra blanket.” Fred feigned a shiver.

“So am I.” George again.

“Ron, were you warm enough last night?” Fred asked, grinning.

“I was fine,” Ron replied curtly, not liking the direction of this conversation.

“Didn’t need another blanket? or perhaps a hot water bottle....”

“...you know something warm to cuddle up with.”

To his surprise Hermione rounded on the twins.

“Are you insinuating something, or are you just trying to be vulgar?”

His mother leaned in and set down two more jugs of pumpkin juice.

“Boys, leave your brother alone. Ginny, did you take the other jug up to Charlie?”

“The door was shut,” Ginny replied, “I thought he might be sleeping, didn’t want to disturb him.”

“Where’s our Nymphadora?” Lupin asked rather loudly. The look his mother fired in Lupin’s direction did not go unnoticed.

Moody’s magical eye spun up to the ceiling, and came down again rather quickly. A smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. He leaned over to share the joke with Lupin.

*

The food had been eaten and the company departed before Tonks reappeared in the kitchen. She was wearing robes of a deep purple, which struck Ron as odd.

Weren’t her robes blue earlier?

Ginny and Hermione had hurried off to compose Ginny’s latest reply to Dean. Ron had promised her the services of Pig again. He was just heading upstairs himself when he glanced at the map on the wall. A red light began flashing frantically somewhere in Essex.

His mother stepped up to take a closer look.

“Chipping Ongar,” she said.

“That’s Merriman.” Tonks directed her final stack of dishes into the sink. “I’ll go, Molly.” She dried her hands on the tea towel, gave them a grin and Disapperated.


***


11:15 P.M.

Madam Pomfrey had arrived a short time ago to change Charlie’s dressings. His father had followed about fifteen minutes later and now both were sitting by the fire, reading the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly respectively. His mother had gone down to the kitchen to fetch tea and chocolate biscuits.

By rights the rest of them should have be seriously thinking about going to sleep. But somehow, they had gotten themselves involved in the mother of all Weasley chess tournaments. It was down to the two of them now; Bill and himself. Hermione was sitting with Charlie, their heads together over her Ancient Runes textbook. Fred and George had finally convinced Ginny to eat all seven colours of the chocolate mints at once, to see the combined effect; George was taking notes.

“Why hasn’t her hair turned? She’s had all seven.”

“But I have changed colour.” Ginny examined her arms.

“Yeah, the purple’s fantastic. But your hair is still the same.”

“Really?” Ginny grabbed the end of her plait and pulled it round so she could see.

“Might work differently on girls you know. We’ve never tested on girls before.”

“Good theory. --Oy, Hermione.” Fred grinned.

“No,” Charlie said firmly. Hermione didn’t look up but Ron noticed she was blushing pink again.

Fred turned another bag of mints out onto the table, picking out the clear ones and handing them to Ginny, who gradually began to get lighter. Ron wasn’t sure if it was just him, or the lighting but her hair seemed to be getting lighter as well. His attention was drawn back to the board as Bill finally made his move. Ron tried to suppress a grin. He made a great show of his next move and smiled sweetly at Bill.

“Checkmate,” he said.

His queen took Bill’s king in a rather overly dramatic fashion. Bill dropped his head into his hands. Ron threw his arms in the air.

“Undefeated as usual. Why do you all even bother?”

His gaze fell on Ginny. He gasped. Ginny’s skin tone was now back to normal but her hair, her hair was platinum blond.

“What?” she asked suspiciously, noticing his incredulous look.

Behind her Fred was making great slashing movements across his throat and George was desperately mouthing “DON’T!” from his seat before the fire. But it was too late, the others had seen her as well.

Bill laughed. “Well, if it isn’t Ginerva Malfoy.”

“It’s not that bad, Ginny,” Hermione said sweetly.

“What!” Ginny turned toward the twins. “What did you do?!”

George shrugged. Ginny grabbed her hair again and shrieked.

“Dad!”

Their father looked up from his paper.

“Well, now that’s different. Not bad though, I quite like it.”

“Daddy!!!”

“Boys?”

“It’ll wear off.”

“We’re paying her,” The twins spoke over each other.

“How much are you paying her?”

“A Galleon,” Fred responded.

“That’s quite good. Don’t look so worried, pet,” their father said brightly. “If it’s not back by tomorrow, I’ll put it right.”

*

“Arthur, Poppy!!!” His mother’s screams radiated from the floor below.

In an instant they were on their feet. His dad and Madame Pomfrey darting from the room, followed by Ron, Hermione, Bill, Ginny and the twins. Only Charlie remained in unwilling confinement on the settee.

They were in the kitchen moments later. His mother was kneeling on the floor beside a figure crouched on all fours, a witch, soaking wet, her robes shredded, retching vast quantities of blood onto the gray stone tile. The red hair threw him at first, but then she raised her head; behind him Hermione inhaled sharply. It was Tonks.

Madame Pomfrey swooped in. She took Tonks’s face in her hands and immediately got doused with another mouthful of blood.

“Molly, Coagula, now!”

His mother leaped up and went for the cupboards.

“Arthur, Ron, let’s get her up.”

Following his father’s lead, Ron took Tonks’s shoulder and her arm and they brought her gently up to her knees, as his mother returned with a small bottle. Tonks felt like ice, clammy and cold. Ron couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face. He’d glimpsed at first, as he had knelt to help, what he saw revolted him, terrified him, gave him chills, made him want to throw up himself. She was covered in blood, gasping, choking on it, from the frightened expression on her face it was obvious she didn’t know exactly what was happening. He sought to fix his gaze on anything else in the room, as Madam Pomfrey tried to force her to swallow the liquid.

Bill was staring at the map; a pale yellow light was flashing over Chipping Ongar.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“We’re coming too,” the twins spoke together.

“Boys.”

“It’s barely yellow, Mum, we’ll be fine,” Bill assured her. They Disapperated together.

Tonks was retching again. The mixture of blood coming out and purple liquid going in caused her to vomit black fluid all over the floor.

“It’s all right, dear,” Madame Pomfrey spoke gently. “We’ll try again.”

This time most of the potion went down. The bleeding slowed, and eventually stopped. Tonks drew her breath in great rasping heaves.

“Minuo?” Madame Pomfrey asked.

Tonks nodded weakly.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. “Arthur, go to St. Mungo’s and find Honoria; tell her ‘minuo’ has been used as a curse and I need her here now! And all the blood replenisher you can carry.”

His father got up and Disapperated. Ron shifted so he alone was holding Tonks upright, kneeling behind her, one arm around her waist the other across her shoulders.

“Merriman’s dead,” she sputtered.

“Don’t try and talk, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said softly.

He felt Tonks shiver. Her body convulsed against his embrace, fresh blood splashed down her front, was warm over his hands. Madam Pomfrey came at her once more with the bottle.

“We have to get her warm,” Madame Pomfrey continued, “let’s take her upstairs.”

Ron lifted her. She was unconscious now, her body limp and frighteningly light in his arms. Ginny was crying on his mother’s shoulder as he past. Hermione was nowhere in sight.

Madame Pomfrey led them upstairs and into the dining room. Ron laid Tonks gently on the dark oak table. Hermione appeared moments later, a large green bottle and small goblet in her hands.

She handed them to Madam Pomfrey. “I thought you’d need this, it’s Charlie’s but....”

“Good girl.” Madam Pomfrey took the bottle from her and uncorked it; pouring the dark liquid into the goblet. She nodded to Ron, who lifted Tonks enough to pour the liquid down her throat.

He and Hermione then piled wood into the fireplace and Madam Pomfrey lit it with a flick of her wand. Ginny came in carrying cloths and clean sheets, followed closely by his mother who was navigating a steaming cauldron and carrying a small basin. She set the cauldron in the edge of the fire and threw what looked like a handful of dried leaves into it. A sweet smell filled the air. She exchanged a few quiet words with Madam Pomfrey, filled the basin, picked up a cloth and began the grim task of gently wiping off the blood.

The heat was stifling.

He stepped out into the darkened corridor, pulled the door shut behind him, turned around and came face to face with Charlie.

Ron put his arm on Charlie’s shoulder trying to think of something to say.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked. “Ron, who has the Blood
Replenisher for?”

Hermione opened the door behind him, squeezed past, and darted down the stairs. Light flooded over him. Charlie’s expression changed.

Ron looked down at the hand he had on Charlie’s shoulder, at the gray sweatshirt he was wearing. He was covered in blood: all down the front and the sleeves, all over his hands.

“Who’s it for?” Charlie came again.

Ron found himself struck dumb. Charlie’s intensity scared him. There was something about his brother in that moment, something Ron had never seen before; Charlie was afraid.

“Just tell me who it’s not,” Charlie continued. “Tell me it’s not her.”

“I can’t,” Ron managed. He stepped aside, turned and followed Charlie through the open door.

The sight of Tonks on the table stopped Charlie in his tracks. Ron watched as all the colour drained from his brother’s face, even his freckles went white.

“What can I do?” Charlie asked.

“Stay out of the way,” Madam Pomfrey replied sharply.

Charlie crossed to where his mother was standing. His hand covered hers as she withdrew the cloth from the now rather bloodied liquid. She relinquished it to him and stepped back. Charlie pulled out a chair and began the task for himself.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him for a moment and kept working. She set about the task of removing Tonks’s wet and tattered robes.

“Where on earth’s Honoria?” she muttered.

As if to answer the question two loud cracks were heard in the hall and their father rushed in followed by a blond witch Ron recognised immediately as Honoria Sandseer, a healer and member of the Order.

“Come on dears,” his mother said, ushering Ginny and himself out of the room. “Let them work.”

*

“Ron, go and change, please.” his mother asked kindly once they were in the corridor.

He’d forgotten again. He sprinted up the stairs to the shower room peeled of his bloodied clothes, turned on the shower and stepped into the water. It was warm. He picked up the soap and began to scrub the blood from his hands and forearms. He watched as it mixed with the water and swirled a pinkish hue down the drain. The images still refused to leave him: Tonks choking on her own blood, the look on her face, blood on the floor, Charlie.... His eyes burned uncomfortably, he screwed them tight shut, put both hands on the cold tile in front of him and leaned forward into the flow.

“Colder,” he commanded the taps.

The water became progressively colder and he saw no reason to stop it. It was flaying his skin like sheets of ice now, but he didn’t care. The numbing pain was giving him something else to think about. He needed something, someone, desperately, needed to see, to feel, to touch....

He slammed his palms against the tile.

“Stop!”

The water ceased abruptly.

*

He stood in the door of the living room moments later. She wasn’t there. Ginny was sitting on the floor in front of the fire beside their father’s chair.

“Dad?” Ginny turned to ask. “What exactly is minuo?”

Ron lingered, wanting to hear the answer himself.

“Well, it’s a charm really, or it’s supposed to be. The blood letting charm, healers use it. But more recently, someone has found a way to use it as a curse, with devastating results as we’ve seen.”

“What does it do to you?”

“I don’t really know. That would be a question for Madam Sandseer or Madam Pomfrey.”

Ron cleared his throat. His father and Ginny looked up, surprised to see him there.

“Have either of you seen Hermione?” he asked.

“No.” Ginny replied. “But if I do, I’ll tell her your looking for her.”

“Thanks.”


He moved down the corridor to the dining room, opened the door a bit and peered in. Hermione wasn’t there either. Tonks lay on the table, a white sheet under her and one over her, as Madam Sandseer worked her magic. At least the blood was gone. Charlie rested his forehead against the side of Tonks’s face, his eyes were closed and he was talking to her; whispering in her ear.
It was torturous but Ron couldn’t help but watch.

He jumped when Bill tapped him on the shoulder.

“How is she doing?” he asked.

“Don’t know really,” Ron answered. “You’re back early.”

“Wasn’t much for us to do. Four more Death Eaters for Azkaban, bound or otherwise immobilised waiting for us to contact the proper authorities. Silas Merriman is dead. From the looks of it they killed him outright. He was probably dead before Tonks even got there.”

“So she did it. Four Death Eaters?” Ron glanced back into the room again.

Bill nodded in admiration and smiled. “She’s mustard, that one. Charlie’s very lucky.”

“I think he knows.”

“I’ve got to find Mum. Fred and George have gone home, they’ll be back this evening.”

Bill turned back to the stairs.

“Bill, have you seen Hermione?”

Bill nodded. “Upstairs a little while ago. She said she needed some air. I think she went to see Buckbeak.”

“Thanks.”


***


The trapdoor was open when Ron reached the top of the staircase. He clambered through into Buckbeak’s stable. It was empty. The straw had been turned, a few dead ferrets were strewn in the corner and the doors were open. Ron walked out onto the roof. The moon was a sliver of silver in the night sky. A cool breeze blew from the north rustling the leaves of the old oak in the garden. He walked to the edge of the roof and looked over the side. Hermione was sitting about four feet down leaning against a window, her knees drawn to her chest, staring out into the darkness. Ron clambered over the railing and slid down beside her. She didn’t look up at him.

“How long’s he been out?” Ron asked, nodding toward the sky.

“About ten minutes,” she replied, wiping tears from her face with her hands. She was shivering.

“You should be inside, you’re freezing.”

Hermione shook her head fiercely.

“Here then.” Ron pulled the maroon jumper over his head and handed it to her.

“No, Ron, it’s all right, you’ll....”

“I’m not cold.”

She took it gratefully and put it on. It swamped her and Ron couldn’t help but smile.

“Bit big,” he said apologetically.

She pushed the sleeves up so her fingers were visible. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They sat there for a long time just watching the stars.

“So what brought you out here?” he asked finally.

“Ceridwen Davis,” she replied, still not meeting his eye.

“Who?”

“The witch who died last night, her name was Ceridwen Davis. I asked your mum.”

Ron felt his stomach constrict. He hadn’t thought of that all day. He put his hand on Hermione shoulder and wound his fingers into her hair.

“Has it been like this all summer?” she asked.

“No. I mean, the Order’s been busy. There have been scattered attacks but nothing like last night. Mum said the they were expecting it. Azkaban will be next, Dumbledore’s sure of that.

Hermione took a deep breath and turned to look at him.

“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ron said truthfully. “Remember what I told you last night though.”

Hermione nodded. “I am, I do.” She took his hand from her shoulder and held it in both of hers, running her thumbs over his palm. Fixating on it. “It’s just, well... people you don’t know is one thing, but Tonks, she’s wonderful, I adore her. And, oh God, Charlie... and when I was standing there, I couldn’t help but think - what if it were Harry laying there, or Ginny, or....” she stopped, bit her lip and closed her eyes.

“Move forward,” Ron said shifting to his knees. Hermione looked up at him questioningly but did as he asked. Ron slid in behind her. She leaned back against him, took his arms and wrapped them around her shoulders.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked sliding her finger up the shiny scar that ran the length of his right forearm.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. I had a bit of a broomstick accident.”

“Ron, this is a burn.”

“Oh, well, it might have been on fire a bit.”

“Ronald!”

“All right. We were returning from an errand, Bill and I. The wind was just ridiculous, so we had to take a detour, saw red sparks shoot up, went to help and, well, a couple of Death Eaters had surrounded old Fearghus Foghorn. I stayed on my broom and just tried to get in the way, distract them, while Bill went down to help. I think the Death Eaters decided it wasn’t worth the effort because they ran, but the last one threw a curse at Bill, he deflected it and well, it hit my broom, broom caught fire, I fell off and got a bit burnt.”

“Bit burned doesn’t leave a scar like this Ron, not in the wizarding world.”

“That arm got the worst of it, because I tried to hang on to the broom for a bit too long.”

“Why didn’t you write and tell me?”

“I was all right, angry with myself; embarrassing really.”

“And your broomstick?”

“Cinders.”

“But that was new.”

“I know. I’ve got some money saved though and my brothers have offered to help with the rest. Since it was lost in ‘service to the Order’ so to speak.”

“He’s coming back.” Hermione nodded toward the large creature winging its way toward them.

“Oh gawd, what has he got now?”

Hermione laughed.

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

He helped her back up onto the roof and climbed up after her. They closed the doors and descended the stairs. Ron lowered the trapdoor behind them.

In the corner Buckbeak was pulling apart what looked suspiciously like a wombat. Ron tried not to look too closely; best not to know really.


***


The door to the dining room was open, when he and Hermione came downstairs. They stepped inside and stood against the wall, staying out of the way. Tonks was dressed in thick gray flannel pyjamas that were far too big. Ron briefly wondered who’s they were, until he saw the golden snitch emblazoned on the breast pocket.

Of course.

Charlie still sat at the table, his head resting against hers. Madams Pomfrey and Sandseer seemed to be finished and were now arranging numerous potions bottles on another large round tray.
His mother bustled about tidying up.

Tonks moved her fingers first. Ron watched as her hand came off the table and fell, she lifted it again. She raised her arm and ran her fingers through Charlie’s hair. The room fell silent.

“Has someone given him a babbling potion?” she asked in a rather hoarse whisper, “because he just won’t shut up.”

Charlie laughed, relieved, kissing the side of her face.

“Hi Nymph, just had to go one better than me, didn’t you?”

“‘Course,” she murmured, “love being the center of attention.”

The room exhaled.

Beside him Hermione slipped her hand into his. Ron glanced down at her. She was laughing; tears streaming down her face. Tonks caught sight of her.

“Wasn’t really that bad, was it Hermione?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“God, who’s pyjamas are these? I look ridiculous.”

“They’re mine and you’re beautiful,” Charlie replied.

“She’ll need Blood Replenisher every hour for the next six,” Madam Sandseer began, “and then every three for the next twenty four. Along with all of these every three hours. The combination of these will lower her body temperature, so the fire must be kept up and someone will have to stay with her.”

“That’ll be me,” Charlie said firmly.

“Charlie,” his mother started, “you should be concentrating on your own, recovery. You’ve....”

“Come on, Mum,” Bill interrupted. “The invalids might as well keep each other company. Dad and I will probably be up most of the night anyway, and Remus should be here shortly, between the three of us we’ll make sure they both take their potions.”

“Oh, all right then,” his mother relented.

“Mobilicorpus.” Bill waved his wand and Tonks rose off the table.

“Can we hurry this along,” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the floor, “this is rather unsettling when you’re awake.”

The table and chairs were moved aside and a double bed appeared in the corner. His mother dressed it in sheets, pillows and heavy blankets. More wood was heaped on the fire until the room was blazing hot again.

Bill maneuvered Tonks down on the bed and she sank gratefully into it.

With a wave of her wand, his mother snuffed the candles, so the room was bathed in firelight. Without another look at them Charlie slipped into bed beside Tonks. She moved to him, clung to him, her head on his right shoulder. He kissed her face, and whispered something. Ron saw her shoulders shake as the emotion of the day overtook her, she pulled herself in even closer burying her face in his neck.

Hermione tugged on Ron’s hand, he turned to go.

“Come on,” his mother whispered, through her own tears, as she closed the door behind them. “Give them some peace.”



***


2:37 A.M.

Ron changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. He tried putting his hand through the curtain, nothing just a curtain. He crossed his arms behind his head and waited in the dark. A few minutes later he heard the familiar creak of bed next door. Then the light swoosh of the curtain and Hermione was beside him again, the curtain tented above. This time her pyjamas were blue, and she brought her own pillow. She lay down, looking up at the strange light emanating from the curtain.

“Ginny asleep?” he asked.

“Instantly.”

“Why doesn’t this work from my side?” He waved his hand at the curtain above.

“Why can’t you come into the girls’ dormitory at school?”

“I’m male and therefore untrustworthy?”

“You might appear when you’re not wanted.”

“So might you.”

“Well, if I’m not wanted.” She turned to go.

“Don’t you dare.”

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back. She turned to him. Her hair in his face. So close. Each choosing to ignore the flush in the others cheeks. She was right there, just inches away. She was just looking at him, like she was about to....

He did something he instantly knew he’d regret. He gave an awkward laugh. He had no idea why.

Hermione pulled away, blushing furiously.

You idiot!

“Sorry, Oh God.” She ran her hands over her face. “Long day.”

“No I am, I....”

But it was too late, Hermione was off on a nervous rambling. She was talking so fast he could only catch pieces of what she was saying.

“Sorry, I... no, I can’t... think.., being such a girl, honestly, embarrassing... don’t want you thinking... every time something goes wrong... I mean, that I can’t ....”

“Hermione.” Ron covered her mouth with the tips of his fingers, finally stopping her. “Have you ever thought it might be the other way around?”

“How do you mean?”

He lowered his hand. “I have had a profoundly lousy day and well, I just wanted, I needed... well....”

A smile spread across her face. She turned toward her pillow, fluffed it and lay down.

“Come here,” she said.

“What?”

“You want your turn, don’t you? Come here.”

He slid down the bed so his feet dangled over the end and rested his head lightly on her shoulder. Barely willing to breathe.

“Lie down properly.”

“I’m heavy.”

“And I’m not made of glass. Lie down properly.”

Ron shifted, he leaned into her and slipped his arm around her waist.

Dangerous! -- Yes, but she did invite me.

“Better?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

“Much.”

“Good.”

“Want to tell me a story?” he asked. “Or you could sing me a song.”

“Trust me, you don’t want me to sing.”

“Story then?”

“All right. I think Buckbeak’s been visiting the zoo again. I’m sure that was a wombat he had tonight and I know he couldn’t have flown to Australia and back in less than an hour.”

“I was hoping I’d imagined that.” Ron found himself laughing. “I’ve got to remember to ask Tonks or Lupin for a Muggle newspaper tomorrow, see if anyone’s noticed.”

“At this rate it won’t be long.” She yawned and wriggled herself further into the mattress.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Believe me Ronald if I were uncomfortable I’d be in my own bed.”

He blew her hair out of his face, and pulled himself closer, so that her chin rested against his forehead.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he whispered.

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“It’s making me sleepy.”

“I’m exhausted myself.”

She threaded her fingers slowly through his hair. He couldn’t help but shut his eyes.

He was drifting off in spite of himself. Visions flashed before him: He was playing Quidditch, making the most amazing saves, spinning around, hanging onto his broomstick with one knee, reaching, grabbing the Quaffle. Then suddenly it wasn’t a broomstick anymore, it was Buckbeak. He was standing on the back of the Hippogriff, the Quidditch cup held high above his head, as Buckbeak soared around the pitch. Hermione was watching from the top box, dressed in blue pyjamas --feeding sherbet lemons to a wombat? -I must be dreaming.-

“Ron?”

Hermione? But her voice sounded distant. Harry was on his broom, tossing the golden snitch in the air and catching it again with ease. Harry in Charlie’s gray pyjamas, -what? Then it was Tonks in his stead, her hair bubble gum pink again, changing her nose; somewhere Ginny was laughing.

Beside him Hermione shifted. Don’t go! his mind screamed but he was too far gone to give it voice. She thinks you’re asleep. - I am asleep - But she didn’t go, in fact she didn’t move again for a long time. He could feel her breath on his face. His mind began to wander. He made another amazing save, at the same time Harry caught the snitch. The crowd roared. Hermione was close. Too close. The hairs on his neck bristled. Her lips brushed his. Was that real?

“Goodnight Ron,” she whispered, “and thank you.”


THE END.